


Dog Days

by keiliss



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, Tales from the Perilous Realm - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 4th Age (or thereabouts), Dog Days - Freeform, Family, Fishing, Gen, M/M, Old Friendships, Pipeweed, Reborn Elves, Roverandom - Freeform, Tol Eressëa, Tolkien crossover, Wizards, Young Love, displaced dog, kites, life is a beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 21:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20396734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiliss/pseuds/keiliss
Summary: Tol Eressëa sometime during/after the 4th Age. Various elves, a wizard, and a dog from an entirely different timeline (and possibly a different dimension, who knows?) Shake well and stir. Otherwise known as Roverandom wants to go home.Written for the TRSB_19 in response to Zhie's gorgeous, sunshiney art (with a whale!) called Sand and Sun and Roverandom.





	Dog Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zhie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/gifts).

> **A note on ages**: I am not fighting with authentic measurements of time here, so for context Maedhros and Fingon equate to 18 y/o mortals, Celegorm is about 9, Gildor is older than dirt.  
**A note on relationships**: Mae and Fin are suspected, Gildor and Glory are assumed, Erestor and Gil-galad are an actual Thing. If Mithrandir is in a relationship it is no business of ours.

[ ](https://www.deviantart.com/z-h-i-e/art/Sand-and-Sun-and-Roverandom-810957878)

Tol Eressëa was the perfect place for a late summer break, with pristine beaches, fragrant forests containing no predatory livestock, wonderful taverns, and lots of elves too eastern and outlandish to fit comfortably into life over on the mainland. It made a welcome contrast to tame, manicured Tirion or even the forested, mountainous north. It also offered some unique situations.“Two elves, technically much older than me, sent back as adolescents and playing with kites on a beach…” Erestor sat on a sun-warmed rock scuffing sand with his toes as he tried to find a suitable label for what they were watching. “Different.”

“That’s how the Powers like to do it – young enough for the world to be an adventure, not so young they have to be babied. That’s kept for the more traumatised ones. Then yes, they end up running along our beach with kites - all perfectly normal,” Gildor said, lazily flicking sand at him. “It’s just how life works over here.” Lalwen’s black sheep of a son had relocated from Tirion quite recently but had taken to acting as though he’d settled on Tol Eressëa the day the boat from Mithlond docked.

“I don’t think Maedhros is happy about Fingon’s dragon. He keeps looking back at it.” Glorfindel offered, amused. He had lived on Tol Eressëa far longer than Gildor but was less blasé about it.

“I know they don’t remember much about their previous lives, especially the final years, but I’m not sure Fingon walking around with a dragon kite seems right,” Erestor said.

“He chased Glaurung off like a stray dog,” Glorfindel reminded him, leaning back on his elbows in the sand and tilting his face up to the sun. “It was still a baby, yes, but a dragon’s a dragon. Now if that was a balrog-shaped kite, I’d wonder who gave it to him.”

“The kites are old,” Gildor said. “No idea where Grandmother found them. She said she’d been cleaning out, though when you’re talking about Grandfather’s beach house, that’s an exaggeration. I don’t think anything’s been thrown out since before we crossed the Ice.” Gildor really did remember the family summerhouse from the time before the Darkness. He was older than Glorfindel. He was even (slightly) older than his cousin Galadriel. Erestor, born in Middle-earth, sometimes liked to remind him of this.

“I read somewhere that we develop behaviour traits in response to childhood observations, often as a rejection of them. That might explain why you’d live in an empty shell of a room if you could – no extraneous possessions.”

Gildor frowned at Glorfindel. “Don’t be ridiculous, I like nice things as much as the next person. Just don’t feel the need for clutter, that’s all. Unlike some of us.”

“You’re calling my art clutter?” Glorfindel asked politely.

Gildor rolled his eyes. “No, I have no problem with your art. I like your art. I was talking about the – objects – you wander home with every time there’s a market or one of the craft houses has a sale.”

Erestor, who had been about to join them on the ground, tried instead to find a more comfortable position on his rock. He focused on the two young elves jogging along the beach with their kites, trying to let the bickering from below flow past him. This only lasted until Glorfindel prodded his leg impatiently. “Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Complain about me buying the occasional little carving or whatever back when we lived together?”

Erestor ran through possible answers and decided on diplomacy. “I was usually too busy to notice.”

“That’s why we broke up, of course,” Glorfindel said in satisfied tones as though he had won an argument.

“My fault entirely, yes, I know.” By now Erestor regarded the breakup as dodging an arrow, one of those double barbed things with poison on the tip. It meant no long journeys into the south ‘to see what was there’, no horse racing, no hare-brained attempts to swim from Tol Eressëa to the mainland…

“Where did that animal come from?” Gildor pointed down the beach where a medium-sized black and white dog was trotting along in the footsteps of the two re-embodied elves who had stopped a little further along to untangle the tassels hanging off Maedhros’ kite.

“Maybe it’s theirs?” Glorfindel suggested dubiously. There were dogs on the island, but not many and this did not look like the local breed. Someone must have smuggled a pair over on one of the boats and thus every dog born on Tol Eressëa had something of the same look. Erestor had no idea why some Vala didn’t get involved and mix in a little variety. Probably never occurred to them. Gil-galad had said more than once that they didn’t quite think like people.

The dog got nearer and then they heard it was not panting as any normal dog would but making growling, muttering sounds.

Gildor and Erestor exchanged uncertain looks. Glorfindel’s face however split into a grin of pure delight. “Oh, hello there boy. Come on, come here.” He gave Erestor a happy look as though he had personally produced the animal. “It almost sounds like he’s talking to himself.”

“That is all we need,” Erestor said. “A talking dog. This place is enough of a carnival. Gildor, do they need some help with that? You’re the adult, go and see.”

“Why me?”

“Why not? They’re part of your admittedly huge family.”

“Yours too,” Gildor shot back. “Or close enough, Master Informal Royal Consort.”

“If Gil were here he’d say that you’re their first cousin and more closely connected than him, so off you go.”

“Yes, typical.” Gildor got up with a sigh and went purposefully down the beach. Erestor took a look at the dog that had plumped itself down next to Glorfindel. He was hardly surprised, animals usually liked Glorfindel. Animals and children. And drunks.

“Don’t think he’ll let you take it home.”

Glorfindel, tickling behind the dog’s ears, gave him a bland look. “I don’t need permission to have a pet, Ery. I’m long past that.”

“You’ll find out. It’s probably got fleas.”

“Here? Come on, there’s no fleas on this island, no fleas in the whole of Aman.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why would there be fleas? What purpose would they serve?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.

Erestor thought about it. Gildor meanwhile had reached his cousins and was helping untangle the kite. There was animated conversation happening around him and he had his ‘concentrating’ look, which meant he was trying to keep people from talking to him. “Maybe someone came over with fleas in their baggage and after all this time they’ve bred enough to be riding on dogs?”

Glorfindel rubbed the dog’s head and then began parting fur and peering at him. “Nothing moving that I can see. Take a look.”

“It’s your dog, not my problem. But if I find something walking on me later you’ll be hearing about it. And not just from me.” Glorfindel and Gildor had been sharing a very comfortable house with a sea view for some time now. Erestor was not inclined to ask what else they might be sharing, but he had a good idea. He supposed he was quite pleased: Glorfindel was not one to live alone but had not been happy in the enclave of former citizens of Gondolin, and Gildor needed roots.

Gildor was coming up the beach with the boys trailing behind him. The little dog growled. Erestor couldn’t help but laugh. “He thinks he’s the size of a Gondorian wolfhound,” he said. “Listen to him.”

“Haven’t thought about them in ages. I’d love one of those.”

“There aren’t any really big dogs here. It’s probably a rule.”

Valinor was full of Rules, most of which the more recent arrivals chose to ignore as far as possible. Various leaders had staked out space for themselves and their followers as soon as they came West, so the norm now differed from place to place, much to the disquiet of those who had never left Aman. Gil-galad had picked an area well north where the air was cold and clean, the trees grew thick and the land had remained almost untouched: it appealed to the more adventurous, independent-minded of his former subjects and Erestor regarded himself as bound by the conventions of the lakeside city that they called Starhaven. However, when on Tol Eressëa…

“Nice kites, boys,” Glorfindel said. “Don’t mind the dog, he’s just a bit nervous. Not really enough wind for that, is there?”

Maedhros pushed back his long auburn hair and smiled. He was unexpectedly shy but the smile was sweet and friendly. Glorfindel said later that he had always been shy but hid it better when they were all young the first time round. “That’s why we were running, but mine keeps getting tangled. Wish I had a dragon too.”

Fingon hauled his dragon in. “It’s heavier than yours, I had to run faster to get it airborne.”

“Well that evens it out,” Gildor said. “You both have a handicap.”

“Here, you try him for a bit now,” Fingon said, holding out the dragon’s string to Maedhros. “I’ll try the other thing, whatever it’s meant to be. If it’s held very straight it might not get so muddled up.”

The dog whined at Glorfindel who patted it reassuringly. Maedhros reached out his hand for the kite and turned his smile on to Fingon, who stood a bit straighter. His right hand was bent and slightly withered: he had been told it was a reminder in his skin of pain in his past that he had overcome and he seemed almost unaware of it most times.

Erestor got up with a sigh and helped with the not-dragon, holding the final kite shape while Gildor gave it all a firm straightening before passing the string to Fingon.

“You boys want some water?” Erestor asked, gesturing to the bottle and slightly sandy cup by the rock. Both boys said yes please and he held Maedhros’ kite for him while he drank, not referencing the twisted hand but noting a momentary uncertainty and guessing he would normally steady the cup with his free hand. He was amused to see Fingon had been about to do the same. Young love, he thought with a private grin.

“Is this just for the exercise or is there a point to it?” Gildor had never been one for sports or hobbies that Erestor knew of and he could be too blunt for his own good at times. Fingon however was unperturbed.

“Well yes, it’s good exercise, but there’s also going to be a festival to mark the end of summer and there’ll be kite races. Grandma said we’ll be staying till autumn and after we’d been talking about it she found these old kites and said we should start practicing. It’s harder than it looks,” he added wryly.

“I haven’t done much running till now,” Maedhros said. “I don’t know if I was much good at it before, but if I was my body doesn’t remember.”

Erestor and Gildor looked off at the sea and pretended not to hear. Glorfindel, who was unfailingly kind, said quite seriously, “No, you weren’t one for running. Not unless you had to.”

There was an awkward moment as the boys realised there was more to this than a throwaway comment merited, which was broken by the dog whining again and pawing at Glorfindel’s leg. Fingon hesitated in the act of hoisting the kite and looked down.

“Where does he come from?”

“We haven’t a clue but he seems to have adopted Glorfindel,” Gildor said while reaching for the water. “Think he was following you originally.”

“I didn’t notice,” Maedhros said, looking around as though an owner complete with explanation would appear.

Fingon was frowning now and knelt down in the sand in front of the dog which growled at him again, but with less conviction.

“What did you say, boy? I’m sure you said something…”

“Dogs don’t talk,” Gildor said firmly. Maedhros looked embarrassed. Erestor tilted his head to study the dog and then looked a question to Glorfindel, who shrugged slightly and looked back at Fingon.

“He’s… trying to explain something,” Fingon said. “Can’t you hear it? The growl isn’t a real growl…”

Maedhros began edging away, ready to sprint for the tideline. “Fin, we have to be back in time for tea.”

“No, wait.” Fingon held out the kite string and after a moment Glorfindel took it from him. He leaned forward and rubbed the dog’s ears and head. “Come on now, tell me what’s wrong. I can hear you trying.”

Erestor wondered, not for the first time, if things didn’t occasionally go a bit wrong with the rebirth process. To be fair, he had lived with two returned elves and had noticed nothing too far out of the ordinary, though both Glorfindel and Ereinion Gil-galad really nudged that line between eccentric and crazy sometimes. But he had heard stories, some of them odd, some of them very sad.

“I think he’s just trying to work out who we all are, Fingon,” Gildor suggested with a bit more kindness than Erestor expected, which suggested they had been thinking the same thing.

Maedhros came back and made as though to actually take Fingon by the hand. “Fin, second-grandmother made us promise not to be late.”

Fingon hesitated, glanced around, took in the blank expressions, and got up with an apologetic pat to the dog’s head. “Sorry boy, you just keep trying, all right? Have some water.” He took the cup, splashed water into it, and held it for the animal before Erestor realised what he was about.

“No, wait, I’m not drinking out of the same cup as a dog,” Gildor exclaimed, outraged.

“Rinse it in the ocean,” Fingon retorted with a frown that looked far older than his physical years. “He isn’t carrying a disease.”

“Fingon!”

Fingon sighed, but softly so Maedhros wouldn’t hear. “Coming. Don’t worry, we won’t be late. Grandma’s always late herself anyhow, her hair takes forever. I’ll come back later boy, promise,” he called back to the dog as he started jogging again to catch up with Maedhros who had decided enough was enough.

They got comfortable again and watched the boys head along the beach at the water’s edge, just beyond reach of the shallow waves, talking animatedly, the kites riding the breeze behind them.

“Someone should mention that to his father,” Gildor said finally. “I’m not sure imagining animal speech is common.”

“Celegorm could talk to animals, couldn’t he?” Glorfindel asked. “Or am I mixing them up again?”

“No, he could, but it’s a rare gift to hear them talk back.”

“Or at least to claim it out loud in company,” Erestor finished for him. He eyed the dog which had finished the water and now sat scratching. “Findel, he’s scratching. I swear…”

“It’s just something all dogs do, don’t be neurotic.”

“What?”

“Don’t start, you two,” Gildor cut in. “It’s not half as funny to listen to as you might think.”

“Well, not my problem, I suppose,” Erestor said. “I won’t be the one picking them off me or asking for advice on flea repellent herbs.”

Gildor stood up abruptly and shaded his eyes. “Have I lost my mind? Is that a whale?”

“What, where?” Glorfindel, who had just relaxed back on the sand, straightened up again.

Erestor tried to remember if he had heard any mention of whales in the bay before. He thought not.

“No fleas.”

Maedhros and Fingon saw Gildor get up and waved. Erestor was also about to squint out to sea for a proper look at what had to be seaweed, but instead turned his head slowly towards the dog which was on the other side of Glorfindel. It sat very upright and met his eyes squarely.

“Oh, come on,” Erestor said, mainly to himself.

“No. Fleas,” the small, gravelly voice repeated. “Home.”

Glorfindel glanced back from the ocean. “No Ery, I do believe he’s right – that has to be a whale. I must ask my mother.” Glorfindel’s mother, like most Vanyar of Erestor’s experience, knew everything, or liked to give that impression. She was another reason he knew he and Glorfindel had made the right choice. Gil-galad’s family was large, terrifying, and as odd as their legend suggested, but at least Erestor had known what he was getting into when they rekindled their romance: Glorfindel’s mother had been an unknown quantity.

“The dog wants to go home,” he said in as normal a voice as he could manage.

Glorfindel smiled absently. “Yes, he does look a bit lost, poor thing. Shouldn’t be hard to find his owner though. Distinctive colouring for these parts. Gildor, did you ever hear of a whale off here before?”

Gildor shook his head, still looking out to sea. “Biggest one I’ve ever seen too, and some huge ones passed through Belfalas.”

“Would you two shut up about the damn whale? I told you, the dog wants to go home.”

“You should wear a hat when the sun’s this high, your skin’s too fair.” Not that Gildor was sympathetic, and also not that Gildor had ever sunburned, he just went brown, but he was good with practical advice after the event.

“You need to keep hydrated,” Glorfindel said, holding the water bottle out to him. “Drink out of this, I’ll wash the cup in a minute.”

“Damn it.”

“Home,” the dog said clearly. “Right size. Now home.”

Gildor and Glorfindel both turned around to look hard at it. Gildor came and hunkered down in the sand diagonal to Erestor. “Say what?”

“I told you. He wants to go home. Wherever that is.”

“Somewhere there are small black and white dogs?” Glorfindel suggested. He had seen many strange things in his life and was known for not over-reacting to oddities.

“Damn, are you saying Fingon was right.” Gildor looked put out by this. “How did this happen? You, dog. Where did you learn to talk?”

“Don’t be rude, Gildor.”

“It’s a damn dog, Erestor.”

“He understands what you’re saying, what’s wrong with you?” Erestor hissed, shoving Gildor with his bare foot**.**

Glorfindel gave them a hurt look and stroked the dog’s head. “All right, don’t mind them. What’s all this about you talking then?”

The dog squirmed and nudged with his head for more petting and mumbled something unintelligible. “This is nonsense,” Gildor declared. “We’ve had too much sun. Are you sure it’s only water in that bottle? Could just as easily be vodka, knowing you.”

Erestor flicked his eyelashes at him. “You are such a lush you can’t tell the difference between water and vodka? That’ll be a cheap visit next time you come north to Starhaven.”

Glorfindel gave them a lowered eyebrow look, got to his feet and whistled piercingly. The dog shot up, Erestor jumped, Gildor shook his head. The boys, right down the beach near the gap between the rocks that led up to the road, paused and looked back at them. Glorfindel waved both arms, beckoning them.

“You can’t do that,” Erestor protested. “You heard them, Indis will skin them for being late. Gil says she’s a stickler for time.” He had no intention of ever putting this to the test.

“It’ll be fine,” Gildor said sarcastically. “They can just tell Grandmother they’re late because Fingon needed to see to a talking dog.”

“He was the first one to realise there was something different,” Glorfindel said reasonably. “Maybe he’ll understand better. And maybe you two will be quiet while he tries.”

“Hey, excuse me? I was the one trying to make you shut up about that so-called whale. Now I talk too much?”

Gildor started gathering up their towels and the basket that had once held bread and cheese and fruit. “We can walk up with them, that way they won’t be late and we can get to the bottom of this nonsense on the way.”

“It’s not nonsense,” Erestor told him, annoyed. “You heard that as clearly as I did.”

Glorfindel made signs to the boys to now wait where they were. “I wanted a final swim,” he said a bit wistfully. Fingon made ‘what?’ hand signals, while Maedhros shrugged and decided to wade into the water instead.

Erestor sighed, finally got off his rock, which had grown uncomfortable by then anyhow, and grabbed his shirt before Gildor could put it in the basket. “I’ll have that thanks, I’m not walking around Tol Eressëa half-naked. They stare. You’d swear they’d never heard of swimming.”

“They stare because they’re trying to work out what a former High King in the East sees in you.”

“He loves me for my mind, of course.”

“Come on,” Glorfindel said before there could be an argument. “You too, boy, let’s see if we can get you some help.”

Once he saw where they were going the dog tore off in a wild circle, kicking up clouds of sparkling sand. Two of the island dogs had wandered onto the beach and he ran at them growling wildly, crouching as though about to attack, then leaping straight-legged sideways and barking excitedly. Even to non-dogs it was clear he wanted to play. The island dogs looked at him and then at one another and retreated in outraged silence.

The dog watched them go, whimpering, then remembered its original direction and charged at speed over to Fingon. He began running round him, bounding up and down and yelping. Gildor opened his mouth to say something; Erestor gave him a death glare before he could give the thought breath. When they reached the path, Maedhros had come in from the sea to watch while Fingon sat on a rock with the dog obediently in front of him, tail wagging, tongue hanging out, panting. Very doglike in other words.

“You were right,” Glorfindel said cheerfully. “Ery says he really does talk.”

“Put it on me, yes. You both heard him.”

“We heard something,” Gildor said, clipping each word off distinctly. “I can’t say what for sure.”

Glorfindel sat on the ground next to the dog and patted him. “I couldn’t understand what he was saying so we thought we’d try you.”

“They were too busy going on about a so-called whale to notice,” Erestor explained.

“Oh was that a whale?” Maedhros broke in. “I’d never seen one before, it was huge. Right out there.” He pointed, reassessed, pointed again a little further north.

“No whales in Eldamar,” Erestor muttered.

“Uin,” the dog said with crystal clarity. “W – way-l.”

“A whale is an uin?” Glorfindel wondered.

“Maybe its name’s Uin?” Maedhros suggested. The dog was happy with this and jumped up at him with an excited bark. Maedhros wasn’t used to dogs: he stepped back.

“All right now, settle down,” Glorfindel said, reaching for the dog although there was no collar to grasp. “Let’s sort this out. Here boy, have some more water.”

“Who do you belong to?” Fingon asked, speaking slowly and distinctly as some people will to a foreigner.

Glorfindel was giving the dog water from the cup. Erestor opened his mouth to protest but shut up, knowing it wasn’t worth it.

“Boy Two.” There was nothing obscure about that. A few more slurps of water and then, shaking his head and sending droplets flying, the dog added between growls, “Right size. Go home.”

Erestor gave Gildor a defiant look and got scowled at. “He talks all right, he just doesn’t make sense. We need someone who can talk dog.”

“We don’t really need that, do we?” Maedhros asked. “I mean, Fingon can understand him.” His tone was deeply admiring.

“We all understand him, cousin,” Gildor said tartly. “We just don’t get the point. Right size?”

“We need to keep walking while we try and work this out,” Erestor said. “Otherwise you two will be late and we’ll be blamed.” Indis came over to Tol Eressëa once a year to take the air and entertain the better levels of island society. Her teas were well-attended, her dinners a social coup. He had already been invited to one thanks to his connection to Gil. This meant she was aware of his presence and somehow eventually all this would be his fault.

“Celegorm knows a bit about animals,” Maedhros said, his forehead creasing into a frown. “Not that he’s ever said he can talk to them….”

“Not to worry,” Glorfindel said possibly too quickly. “I’m sure we can find someone.”

Celegorm might still be able to talk to animals for all any of them knew, but he was currently very young, his grandmother’s favourite, noted for his quiet nature and love of reading.

“I wonder if it isn’t all just a language issue,” Gildor said. He looked unhappy with having to take this seriously. “Those growling sounds, that could be some other language we’re not getting but he’s managing a few words we can follow?”

Erestor was about to dismiss this but the whole thing was already so unlikely. “One of you, ask him what he needs. Besides ‘go home’.”

“You. Home. How help?” Fingon tried.

“I think he understands us all right,” Glorfindel said uncomfortably. “Don’t talk down to him.”

“Findel, he’s a dog,” Erestor snapped even before Maedhros could spring to Fingon’s defence.

“And that’s no reason to be patronising.”

“Patini’s balls,” Gildor snapped. “Do you two never stop? Why can’t you be like normal exes and just not talk to each other?”

“Wi-zard,” said the dog.

They had reached a proper pathway bordered by white stones and tall bushes laden with heavily scented pink and peach coloured blossoms. On the other side of this impromptu hedge a wilderness garden stretched down to the sea and the side door to the big white house beckoned. They stopped of one accord.

“Did he say wizard?”

“That’s what it sounded like.”

“You’re the one who said we were imagining this.”

“Shut up, Erestor.”

“Boy, did you say you need a wizard?” Glorfindel asked, going down almost to eye level and resting a hand on the dog’s shoulder. The dog barked at him hopefully.

“It – does sound like words in amongst that,” Maedhros said uncertainly. Erestor decided he was in Gildor’s corner with how unlikely this was but wanted to avoid contradicting Fingon. “Doesn’t it, Fingon?”

“What’s a wizard?” Fingon asked, sounding out the word carefully.

“Mithrandir,” Erestor and Glorfindel said. “Gandalf,” Gildor said at the same time.

The boys waited for an explanation. Finally Glorfindel added, “Oh, old habits. Mithrandir - Olórin the Maia. Those were the names he had back overseas. Wizard is a Mannish title for someone who performs what they call magic.”

“I don’t remember…” Maedhros said, wrinkling his brow in effort.

“Before your time,” Glorfindel and Gildor said as one.

Fingon stayed focused on the subject to hand. “I don’t know any Maiar. At least I don’t think so.”

“There were some in the Garden, when I woke up,” Maedhros told him, his voice soft with memory. “I was confused and they were very kind.”

“You might even have met him,” Glorfindel said. “He’s more attached to Irmo than to anyone else.”

“Aren’t they meant to each just follow one Vala?” Fingon asked. He had joined Glorfindel on the ground with the dog who was making much of all the petting he was receiving.

“Most of them,” Gildor said with a shrug. “Gandalf was always his own person, doubt he’s any different over here. I haven’t seen him in ages.”

“I am not being a party to getting this dog over to the mainland and then the long trek to the Gardens of Lórien just to find he’s not there,” Erestor said firmly. “There has to be an easier way.”

Maedhros took an audible breath and then said, “I’m fetching Celegorm, I know he can help.” Everyone turned to stare at him. He flushed a little to be the centre of attention but looked determined.

“Grandmother would never agree, Maedhros,” Gildor said, not unkindly. “Celegorm’s still a child, she’d be furious.” Also no one knew how Celegorm reacted to dogs these days.

“That’s only if she finds out,” Maedhros said, moving out of range as Fingon reached out a hand to grasp his arm. “I’ll sneak him out this side. It’ll be like the time I climbed out the window to go watch the fire dancers. She’ll never know.”

Lured out of the house by his big brother’s promise of adventure, Celegorm seemed to find nothing at all strange about the situation. He was a serious little boy with a lot of wispy silver hair from his paternal grandmother’s side of the family, crystal blue eyes and a heart shaped face. He barely came up to Erestor’s armpit and Erestor’s height was on the lower side of average (as he was often reminded).

Celegorm and the dog took to one another at once and after a few preliminary yelps and pats ran off down the beach together, the dog jumping up at the boy and making its weird combination of sounds, half speech, half bark, and Celegorm laughing and talking back to him. After watching for a few minutes Fingon, with only vague memories of dealing with younger siblings, asked if this was normal. Glorfindel, who had a younger brother, said probably, yes.

After a bit, the boy and the dog came back to join them in the flower-curtained hollow they had found below the hedge. They plopped down, both panting, to face the sandy semicircle of Maedhros and Fingon with a barely respectable gap between them, Gildor and Glorfindel together, and Erestor off to the side nearest the sea.

“He wants to find the Wizard who changed him back so he can go home.” Celegorm’s young voice rang with the confidence of someone who knows what others may only guess, which made its own kind of sense under the circumstances.

“Changed him from what?” Fingon asked. It was one of the few practical questions anyone had raised this far to Erestor’s mind. He decided then and there if he was told the dog had once been a prince he would go home and leave them to it.

“It’s a biiiig story,” Celegorm said very seriously. “You see, he was an ordinary dog like this, but then he made a – a Wizard – angry and he got changed into a toy dog. Is that like a Vala?” he asked his brother.

Maedhros, who had been paying attention, said, “No, it’s some kind of Maia. Go on. A toy? Like that white stuffed thing you have? The dirty one that keeps getting lost?”

Celegorm nodded hard. “I don’t know how it got in Grandma’s room last time. Anyway, yes, a toy dog. And then another Wizard sent him to the moon – I thought only the star ship could do that – and then under the sea to try and find the first one.” He stopped, looked at the dog. “I think that’s right. Moon then sea, yes?”

“Iss.”

“No, it’s y e s,” Celegorm said severely. “You have to say it right, otherwise how will people understand you? We can’t all learn your language, you have to learn ours.”

Erestor caught Glorfindel’s eye and they shared the kind of look that in the past had meant this party has gone on long enough, we should leave before the drunken fighting starts.

“Are you making this up?” Maedhros asked, with a suspicious stare. Celegorm shook his head so hard his hair swished across his face.

“I don’t make things up, this is what he’s telling me. I don’t have to tell you more if you’re mean to me. And I’ll tell Grandma.”

“You’re meant to call her second-grandmother.”

“I don’t have to if I don’t want to. Emmë said.”

“Celegorm, do you think you could tell us the rest of his story?” Gildor asked with heavy patience.

Celegorm gave him an uncertain look. “He – he found the Wizard, Maia… person under the sea, but it won’t change him back or let him go home. And then he and his friend came for a ride on a whale – was there a real whale?”

“Yes, a big one.”

“Go on.”

Blue eyes looked from one to the other. Wilting a little under Fingon’s frown, Celegorm went on. “The whale takes them for rides. They don’t look like this under the sea, they have flippers and tails and – things like that. And the whale came close and Rover – his name’s Rover or Roverandom, he’s said both but Rover’s easier – wanted to swim to shore. And suddenly when he got on the sand he was the right size again, not toy size, and his flippers and flat tail were gone.”

No one said a word, not even the dog.

“And he wants to go home now but he doesn’t know how so he wants to find the Wizard who changed him back.” Celegorm was quite out of breath when he finished. Glorfindel offered him water. Erestor was relieved he remembered not to pour it into the cup.

“This is insane,” Gildor said finally.

“Yes, but there was a whale. And the dog says words sometimes. Why can’t he talk?” Fingon threw at Celegorm.

“He can,” Celegorm said after he finished drinking. “But they talk different to us where he comes from. I think there’s just a few words the same. I had to listen very hard.” He sounded wistful and was pulling Rover’s ears gently.

Gildor shot Erestor a worried look. All they needed was the connection to a new dog – no matter how un-Huan-like – to jog memories Celegorm was not yet ready to handle.

“Not allowed pets yet, are you?” Glorfindel asked in a casual, easy-going way. Celegorm shook his head and looked back down at the scruffy black and white dog. “There’s a reason for that, you know,” Glorfindel went on in the same friendly voice. “When we’re newly reborn we’re not very good at looking after things even though we’d like to think we are. We need to do some growing first.”

Celegorm’s face was trusting and hopeful. “So when I’m older?”

“When you’re older yes.”

“I didn’t know you were also reborn, Glorfindel,” Maedhros said shyly.

Glorfindel smiled at him. Sometimes when he smiled Erestor forgot how incredibly exasperating he had been to live with. And he had always been good with children. “Oh yes, I was. It was a very long time ago now, but I remember how it felt for everything to be new. Just be guided by your family, they really do know what’s best.”

Glorfindel had returned with memory intact and was almost immediately sent back east to fight the Enemy. It had been a battle of a different kind, processing all those memories instead of being given space to grow into them. But there was no need for them to know about that.

“Right, so we know what’s supposed to be wrong,” Gildor said briskly. “What we don’t know is why he changed back or where to find a wizard. Pretty sure we can’t find his wizard.”

“Apparently not, as he’s living under the sea,” Fingon said with a touch of dryness. He sounded rather like his father. Erestor had met Fingolfin and been thoroughly disapproved of. Gil-galad had just shrugged and said he was a difficult bugger, not to worry about it.

“Maybe it was really the land itself?” Glorfindel asked, reaching for an idea with a grain of sense. “This isn’t the mainland but it still has its own kind of power. Perhaps when he reached here it – broke part of the – spell?”

Spells were not a usual thought for anyone in Aman: Erestor was impressed. “Could be. Just the sheer fact of this being Tol Eressëa makes as much sense as anything.”

“So that might be the how,” Fingon said. “It doesn’t tell us what to do next.”

“We get a Wizard,” Maedhros said, suddenly looking and sounding like the prince he had been and would be again. The little blush took nothing away from this.

“Where would we find…?”

“You mean Gandalf?”

“Well that’s what you said he was, as well as a Maia. And aren’t the Maiar meant to help us?”

“I meant it,” Erestor said. “I am not going looking for him in Lórien. We’ll still be wandering Valmar when…” He let the sentence trail off with a vague hand gesture. The commonly-used phrase ended ‘when Fëanor comes back’, which was hardly polite in present company because, as far as anyone knew, Fëanor was not coming back any time soon, if at all.

“Grandmother could send a message to him,” Gildor suggested. He sounded cautious about this. “I mean, nothing to stop her anyhow, although she’d need a good reason.”

The dog was getting agitated. “Us wizard,” it declared a few times, choking on other words between. “Mine wizard!”

“Shh, it’s all right if it’s not the same one,” Celegorm said gently, rubbing Rover’s long ears. “But this one might know how to find yours? Or how you can go home? Or whatever works best?”

“Might be able to understand you better than we do, too,” Erestor said. “Go ask her, Gildor.”

“Who, me?” Gildor literally stepped back, or more correctly shuffled back in the sand. “No, fuck no, I am not explaining this to her.”

“Don’t swear in front of Celegorm,” Maedhros said, flushed but firm.

“Olórin,” Fingon said as though setting the name into his memory. “A senior Maia, possibly of Irmo. All right, I’ll think up something. The message is just that you need to consult with him, right?”

“Won’t she ask all sorts of difficult questions?” Maedhros asked, worried.

Fingon shook his head and contrived to look very masculine and in control. “I’ll do what I always do and ask her when she’s busy with something else, it never fails.”

“I never manage to get these things right.”

“Must come from her side of the family,” Erestor said. “Gildor has it down to an art too. Ask Glorfindel.”

\-----o

It took Olórin a week to get there once Fingon found a way to persuade his grandmother to send for him – to consult on the eastern way of making fireworks, he told her. Indis was dubious but had been doing her best to help these recently returned grandchildren feel at home and so agreed to write a letter. In that week, Rover was supposed to sleep in a blanket-lined box in the garden shed. In reality Maedhros found him curled up on the end of Celegorm’s bed two mornings in a row and had to be firm with his brother.

“Look, I told you before, he has to sleep outside. If she finds him in here there’ll be trouble. You know we’re not allowed pets.” Maedhros was probably allowed a pet should he want one and he quite liked the idea of a cat, but it wouldn’t have been fair and anyhow Fingon was uneasy around them. He couldn’t understand why.

Celegorm perched on the end of the bed, his hair a sleep-tangled mess, his arm around Rover as though fearing he would be ripped away and thrown outside that very minute. The dog cowered against him, not saying a word. Maedhros wasn’t sure who was the better actor.

“I’m serious. He has to go out and stay out. What are you doing anyhow, sneaking down at night to let him in?”

“He comes to the window,” Celegorm said, his lower lip trembling. “He says he’s cold.”

“Don’t be rubbish, it’s summer, how can he be cold?”

“Well maybe it’s warmer where he comes from?”

“Cel, that’s nonsense. He lives under the sea!”

Celegorm started to sniff very effectively. Fingon came in at that moment, shirtless, hair loose, eyes heavy lidded with sleep. Maedhros immediately lost interest in his brother; he had his work cut out trying not to stare.

“What’s going on?”

“He’s bringing Rover in at night. I told him not to.”

“Grandma won’t stand for it,” Fingon told Celegorm who sniffed louder. “I mean it, we’ll all get in trouble.”

“But he’s lonely outside!” Celegorm said in a small sad voice.

The older boys exchanged glances. Fingon manned up. “Look, he sleeps outside. If he doesn’t, I’ll take him along to Gildor’s house. And believe me, he’ll sleep outside there.” He glared at the dog. “You don’t want that, do you?”

“I sleep in box,” Rover said quietly. If he could sniff like Celegorm he would have.

\-----o

Erestor stayed in the beach cottage Galadriel kept for what she termed mental health breaks from Tirion and reluctantly loaned out to family occasionally. She liked Erestor. Not only did he make her great-nephew happy, but she had known and got along with him longer – and better - than with many of her immediate family. He ate good seafood, walked on the beach, visited old friends, and tried not to think about talking dogs any more than he had to. He did think of writing to Gil-galad but instead kept the story to himself, wanting to tell it in person and see the look on his face.

When it was time they gathered in Gildor and Glorfindel’s home, a Finwëan family property which Gildor had taken over. It clung to the cliffside above the sea and was accessed from the mountain side via a double carriage-width driveway. The house was big enough to accommodate a dozen people, which meant even Glorfindel’s accumulated treasures had space to spread out. There were sensible vines climbing the walls outside, less sensible roses which Glorfindel had individually named, and a peddle cycle which they shared.

Gildor handed round drinks while they waited for Glorfindel, who had gone to meet the ferry – fruit juice for the boys, a bowl of water for Rover, and vodka for himself and Erestor. Erestor took a good swallow and nodded approval. “We’re going to need this,” he said.

“Good water,” said Rover and went to sit with Celegorm, who was curled up in a heap of cushions near the window.

“Say thank you,” Celegorm prompted.

“T’ank you.”

“Thank.”

“Thank you. Hard sound. Tongue not happy.”

Celegorm hugged him. “You’re a good boy.”

Voices from across the room, hushed at first because it was their ‘older’ cousin Gildor’s house, had become raised. “Yes but how many rowers is that? Is it one for each of those little holes or one either side?”

“That’s still not enough for a boat this size. And wouldn’t the different levels get all tangled up? They could never row hard enough.”

“They were probably slaves – I’ve read about slaves. They were whipped if they didn’t row hard.”

“That’s cruel. I would never travel in something like that.”

“No, I know you wouldn’t. You’d want cushions for all the slaves and velvet whips,” Fingon teased. It wasn’t quite flirting, but…

The boys had found a scale model of a boat of a design they had never seen before and were examining it. It was a good reason to be close and focused on one another. Erestor wondered how far that friendship had already gone.

Glorfindel finally arrived with a person who at first glance could hardly have been Mithrandir, but there was something about the deep gaze and still-remarkable eyebrows that harked back to the aged wizard, even if his hair was now a startling white gold and his face unlined. He greeted Erestor and Gildor as though he had last seen them at dinner the previous night instead of years ago, then looked around.

“My, you two boys have grown,” he exclaimed at the sight of Fingon and Maedhros. “Particularly you, young Fëanorion. The last time I saw you was shortly after your Awakening, I think. Ah, is that a Haradrim trireme? May I take a look? This is a very accurate model, I’ve travelled on one of these. Who built it?”

Glorfindel pointed to Gildor. “Not guilty this time. He does these things when he’s bored.”

“This place would wear anyone into model building,” Gildor said. He would have looked embarrassed if his face knew how to shape the expression. Erestor put on his social smile, which was the best way he knew to cover a smirk.

“And you, Erestor?” Mithrandir asked, turning the model to examine it from different angles. “On holiday or have you finally moved out? I hope not, it’s good and healthy for royalty to feel thwarted and hard done by.”

“Not moved out, no. Gil-galad and I are still together. It doesn’t sit well with some of the family, yes, I know.” He had no intention of saying this and gave the glass a suspicious stare. Trusting Gildor to choose an alcoholic beverage had never been smart. Then again, despite the changed appearance, this was Mithrandir who had always been the kind of person one could confide in. He needed to watch that, too.

“And this is Celegorm?” It was more of a statement than a question. Celegorm straggled to his feet and stood straight, hand over heart, as children were all taught to do should they happen to be noticed by one of the Powers. Mithrandir replaced the boat and gently touched his hair. “So like Míriel,” he mused softly. “The same hair… eyes. I wonder if you will have her temperament. And Námo chose for you to be reborn, not re-embodied like your brothers? Interesting. The kinder road.”

He nodded to himself, eyes on Celegorm and a hundred leagues away. Some things, Erestor decided, never changed. Taking note of Celegorm’s growing discomfort he said, “And the dog, Mithrandir. Rover, sometimes known as Roverandom.”

“Ah.” The Maia snapped out of his reverie. “Yes. The reason I am here.” He looked down at Rover, who had come to stand with Celegorm in a show of misguided support, the hair at his neck bristling softly. Interestingly, he did not growl. Erestor supposed it would be touching if the whole thing wasn’t a bit surreal and beyond belief.

“Glorfindel explained, yes?” Gildor asked. He sounded uncertain. Glorfindel could be random at times, though Erestor doubted even he could be that random.

“Yes, yes. Wizards. Which was why you all thought of me, of course. Gildor, do you by any chance have some beer? It’s been a long journey.”

Gildor had beer. If there was alcohol in it, Gildor was likely to have it. He fetched a tankard for the Maia, pausing to fill the adult glasses while he did so – beer for Glorfindel, more vodka for himself and Erestor. He put a tumbler of juice on a small table near the boys. Fingon looked ready to argue but got stared down.

“Before I feed you strong drink, I’ll hear Grandmother's thoughts on it. She’s the one closest to hand and the one most likely to come after me.”

Mithrandir settled down in one of the big, cushioned chairs and sampled his beer. Erestor noticed the fingers of his right hand were restless, as though reaching for something. After a moment he realised what it was and grinned to himself. So Gildor wasn’t the only one who’d had trouble giving up the pipeweed.

“Well – Rover, is it? And what is it you want from me? Oh, I know Glorfindel told me you need to be sent home, but that is more complex than I think he realises. Also it might not truly be what you want.”

The dog got up and started trotting about the room, stiff legged and focused. He stopped to sniff at Erestor in passing, which was disconcerting from an animal that could also speak, and then came to a half in front of Mithrandir.

“I big now…” it began.

Mithrandir shook his head decisively. “No, no, that’s too difficult, we shall be here all day with questions and answers.” He reached out his hand, the one that had missed the pipeweed. “Come over here and stand still.”

Rover did as he was bidden. He acted as if he knew he was in the presence of someone he should be very polite to. Mithrandir didn’t seem to do anything, just sat with his hand on the dog’s head frowning. After a while he took his hand away and said, “All right now, that should work better. I’ve just enhanced the – spell - that allows you to speak to us. Now tell me, what is it you wished and why are you here?”

“Begging your pardon sir, but I do want to go home. A wizard – Artaxerxes, I don’t know if you know him – got angry and turned me into a toy, and then I got lost and another wizard, Psamathos, sent me to the Man in the Moon and then under the sea which is where Artaxerxes is these days. And he keeps forgetting to turn me back into a full sized land dog instead of a tiny mer-dog. And then the other Rover and I – which is why I’m called Roverandom there - we rode on Uin the whale and I saw land and was curious and swam here and when I came out the water, I turned back into a proper dog. But – this isn’t my home, sir. This isn’t where Boy Two lives.”

Erestor was trying to avoid eye contact with anyone but accidentally locked glances with Fingon. They shared a moment of disbelief, then Fingon raised an eyebrow and Erestor shrugged. There was no point trying to understand or explain any of this.

“With respect, Mithrandir,” Gildor said, “this is crap.”

Glorfindel made a sound that might have been agreement.

Maedhros was staring at the dog. Celegorm however had gone to sit next to Rover at Mithrandir’s feet and looked entranced. “You can talk properly,” he exclaimed. “That is the best thing ever!” His smile was beautiful.

“Only for a little while, only for a little while,” Mithrandir cautioned him. “To help me aid him and help the rest of you to understand.”

“What’s to understand?” Gildor asked. “This is…”

“Yes, we heard you,” Erestor said with a sigh. “But we heard Rover too, and as much as it may be crap, the fact is the dog told us the story himself so what do you want to do about that? Unhear it?”

“You’re not meant to say that word in front of Celegorm,” Maedhros said, looking uncomfortable.

“You’re not to use that word, Celegorm,” Glorfindel said, finally remembering his beer.

Celegorm was puzzled. “What word? Oh, that one. I know. Emmë says it all the time in her workshop and then says I mustn’t.”

“So as I understand this,” Mithrandir said to Rover, ignoring them, “you have been on several strange adventures and now would very much like your life to go back to normal and would like me to make this happen?”

“Yes sir, that exactly. It’s all been very interesting but I have to return to my own home and garden and my little boy. When I changed back into a proper sized land dog I thought this might be home for a minute but it isn’t. I mean, there are all these people who understand what I’m saying. That’s never happened at home.”

“Part of that is due to the enchantment still on you, and part due to them being elves, which means they are better than most at understanding when something speaks to them.”

“He’s not a something,” Celegorm said hotly. “He’s a he. It’s rude to call someone a thing.”

“Celegorm!” Sometimes it is not sufficient to be right, especially when it comes from the youngest in the room. Maedhros lunged across, grabbed the back of his brother’s shirt and shook him. “You apologise at once.”

“All right, everyone calm down,” Erestor said. “I just appointed myself the adult here. Maedhros, stop shaking your brother. Celegorm, don’t talk back at Olórin, you shame your family. Gildor – language. And more vodka. Mithrandir, can you send him back?”

Mithrandir lowered his memorable eyebrows and shook his head so the light danced off his silver-gilt hair. “Well, yes, I can and I can’t,” he said, draining his beer. “Gildor, you wouldn’t happen to have a little more of this most excellent brew would you? And there’s no chance I suppose of a twist of pipeweed to go with it?”

Gildor gave him a blank stare and went out to get more beer. Also, Erestor hoped, more vodka.

Celegorm started stroking Rover again, his expression subdued. Fingon was speaking quietly to Maedhros, telling him to calm down and remember who the guest was, which of course was why Maedhros had been upset in the first place. He bristled a bit but settled down. After all, it was Fingon.

“I’m going wind surfing after this,” Glorfindel said conversationally.

“I think that’s a good choice,” Erestor agreed. “Clear the head. I’m getting drunk.”

“That’d work too.”

Erestor had no idea how to make small talk with a Maia so didn’t try. Not that it seemed to bother Mithrandir, sitting peacefully with his beer and staring out the window at the sea.

Gildor took a bit longer this time, but he came back finally with beer, a whole flask of vodka, a short wooden pipe and a small bag. “Not for anyone else,” he told the Maia. “Just for you, for old time’s sake.”

“Oh come on, not in the house, you know the rules,” Glorfindel protested.

“This is different. This isn’t me.”

“What is that?” both the boys wanted to know while Celegorm, who was closer, knelt up for a better look.

“Something you never tried first time around and won’t try now either,” Gildor told them. “I brought some seeds but I only ever get a small patch growing at a time.”

“Bringing in plants was illegal wasn’t it?” Erestor asked. Gildor caught his eye, glanced at Mithrandir and frowned.

“Highly,” the Maia said. “And I am most gratified that you thought to overlook that, Gildor. Shows a strong sense of enterprise.”

He fussed over the pipe, packing it, tamping it, finally making a brief move of his fingers over it which elicited a burst of flame followed by a steady glow and smoke. It took Erestor straight back to the Hall of Fire in Imladris, and the way he had never much liked the smell of pipeweed.

“Right. The dog?” Glorfindel asked at last.

Mithrandir raised eyebrows at him and then remembered. “Ah yes, the dog.”

Rover moved a little away from Celegorm and waited expectantly.

“The problem of course is that I am not the wizard who caused all the trouble,” Mithrandir explained, blowing out a plume of smoke with a satisfied expression. “The fabric of this land would to some extent overcome any outside magic, and should you wish to stay you would continue as a normal dog, albeit one who can speak. But to get back to your own time and place – ah, that would be another matter.”

Celegorm said softly, “You don’t have to go, Rover. You could stay here. I would talk to Emmë and you wouldn’t have to keep sleeping in that box in the shed.”

“Second-grandmother might have something to say about that.”

“I said I would ask Emmë, it’s up to her.”

“Don’t tell second-grandmother that.”

“Stop calling her that, it’s horrible. She’s our Grandma!” Celegorm got up and faced his much larger brother with clenched fists and a flushed, tearful face.

“Maedhros stop teasing him, you know he doesn’t like it,” Fingon said firmly, well on the road to adulthood.

“Maedhros, sit down. Celegorm, calm down,” Glorfindel said. “Brothers shouldn’t fight.”

“Why?” asked Erestor, genuinely interested.

“Because it’s tiresome to listen to?” Gildor suggested.

“Celegorm, I think this is for Rover to decide,” Mithrandir said kindly. “And should he wish to stay, I am sure it would be allowed and your mother and grandmother would come round to the idea. But it takes him out of his time, out of the place he should be, the things his fate has set out as his path.”

“Dogs have fate?” Erestor asked under his breath.

“Not now, Erestor,” Glorfindel muttered back.

“Rover, sometimes known as Roverandom,” Mithrandir said, after blowing an elaborate smoke ring that the boys watched in fascination. “This is your decision alone. You need to do what is right for you, no matter how difficult the choice may be.”

Rover got up and started to walk around the room again in the time honoured, aimless manner of dogs everywhere and when. No one said anything, including Celegorm who was biting his lip and Mithrandir who was in some private, joyous, pipeweed-induced world of his own. Erestor had an urge to rush across the room and wrestle the pipe from his hand, a battle he would have lost, horribly.

Finally the dog came back and sat down next to Celegorm. “I have to go home,” it said, putting a paw on his knee. “I – don’t know how, but if I don’t I will always feel like I never tried hard enough. I do like it here, even if I’ve made no dog friends this time - they don’t seem to like strangers. Please don’t be sad. You are every bit as nice as my little boy back at home. But – I don’t belong here.”

Erestor, who had started wondering who was going to explain all this to Indis and had a nasty feeling it wouldn’t be Mithrandir, the only one of them with a smidgeon of authority, breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Celegorm chewed his lip a little more but then patted the dog’s head. “I know. I wouldn’t like to go live somewhere that wasn’t my home either. That’s why I’m glad they sent me back to Emmë as a little baby, not already half grown.”

“I can’t send you directly home either,” Mithrandir cautioned. “What I can do is restore the form you had under the sea and return you there, to petition the wizard who changed you originally to send you back.”

“Oh, but that’s not fair,” Celegorm cried. “It’s all cold and – and wet there and the Wizard wouldn’t turn him back, he already said.”

“It’s not that bad under the sea, really,” Rover said giving him a sympathetic lick. “There are sea fairies with their little carriages, and sea goblins, always up to something, and the great serpent, and my friend Rover the mer-dog… I didn’t mind it for a visit, but not to live there forever – and I get tired of being called Roverandom. And I think he would turn me back in the end, I just need to catch him when he’s standing still and ready to listen.”

“Well, that’s settled then,” Mithrandir said with satisfaction. “And there is no time like the present. We just need to finish our beer or whatever it is that everyone is drinking and then we can do the necessary to help our friend on his way. Is the whale still out there, Maedhros?”

Maedhros jumped. “Whale? Oh yes, yes sir. I saw it earlier.”

“I assume it would be waiting for you, young dog?” Mithrandir said, blowing a shape that might have been a fish through a new smoke ring. “We should be getting along then, it must be quite concerned by now.”

\-----o

There was a tiny beach at the foot of the cliff, reached by means of steep steps cut into the rock. Beaches back east had been sandy or a mass of shale and pebbles, but over here many of the pebbles were semiprecious stones and the gravel sang with a thousand colours. Erestor wondered how it was that Balar, originally a part of Tol Eressëa, had looked so ordinary, He decided that now, climbing carefully down to the water, was not the time to tax Mithrandir on that.

There was a brief argument when Celegorm insisted he would carry Rover down. “Because he’s a dog, he can’t go down steep steps.”

Gildor, not in favour of more delays, dealt with it by scooping the dog up under one arm, eliciting a yelp. “Get going down there. I’ll bring him. I’ll not be the one explaining to Nerdanel how it was you got your neck broken carrying a dog down a cliff.”

Erestor noted the relief on Maedhros’s face, caught his eye and grinned. Sometimes not being the eldest blood relative present had its advantages.

They arrived on the beach one after the other. Mithrandir and Glorfindel had gone first and were talking quietly together, looking out to sea. They all stood in the chill shadow of the cliff watching the waves break a short distance from them: the tide was on its way in and would soon reach the steps.

Gildor put the dog down and Celegorm knelt to hug him, rubbing his ears and telling him he was a good dog and would soon be home and safe and not to forget him and he was sure it was a nice whale…

“I think it’s time, young Fëanorion,” Mithrandir said kindly, touching his shoulder. No one else had liked to interrupt. Erestor knew he at least was a bit anxious about the memories losing the dog might dredge up, but Mithrandir showed no sign of concern so he had to trust the Maia knew what he was doing.

“Look, there’s the whale,” Gildor said, pointing. “Big bastard, isn’t he?”

“Probably close enough that you don’t want him hearing you call him a bastard,” Erestor suggested drily.

Mithrandir made a quick gesture of his head towards Glorfindel, who stepped forward and took Celegorm’s arm. “Better move back,” he said casually. “You don’t want whatever he’s about to do affecting you as well, now do you?”

He managed to turn the boy around while he was speaking so that he faced the cliff with Glorfindel between him and the dog. As he did so, Mithrandir raised his hand and drew a complex shape in the air which lit up in the design of a many-faceted rune. After that, several things happened at once: the dog shrank before their eyes, and while it shrank it changed, its tail broadening and flattening, its paws spreading out into flippers, its coat hardening and dulling. At the same time a large wave came rushing in and swept the creature up and out to where the whale, alerted by some means only known to Mithrandir, had edged in closer to the shore, waiting.

Erestor knew his mouth was hanging open and a glance told him he wasn’t the only one. He also saw why Mithrandir had thought it best that Celegorm not see what his new friend had changed back into.

“Where is he? I didn’t see him go. Is he all right?” Celegorm demanded, pulling free of Glorfindel and turning in a flash of silvery hair.

“He’s – um – he’s fine,” Fingon said, pulling his eyes away from the whale and finally closing his mouth.

“He’s absolutely all right,” Maedhros said, as though this were an everyday thing and nothing to be concerned about. “He went into the sea and a special wave took him straight to the whale and now, see, they’re swimming off. Everything’s fine.”

It was cold and the incoming tide was getting noisy so they made their way back up the cliff, which was harder and took longer than going down. Erestor suspected there were a few tears from Celegorm but Maedhros kept giving him pointedly suspicious looks so he held it together quite well. No one invited an elder brother’s mockery if it could be avoided. Fingon climbed up behind them, being supportive. They gave a whole new meaning to the term deathless love, Erestor decided.

They all stopped at the top for a final look, even Gildor though he was probably as eager to get back to his drink as Erestor was. Celegorm went up on his toes for a better view of Uin the whale who had already gone some distance out to sea. Mithrandir ignored them all, took up his pipe and had another puff. It should not have stayed lit, but it did.

“Very successful all round,” he said, his voice rumbling contentedly over the shush of the waves. “I was afraid I’d have to try two or three different ways of doing that but – very simple manipulation really. They’re not terribly advanced after all, these so called new wizards. In the end there’s still nothing like the old ways.”

“I hope it’s not too cold,” Celegorm said sadly. “He got used to sleeping nice and warm at night in the box.”

“Come on Celegorm, let’s go inside,” Glorfindel said, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Tomorrow’s a special day, we need to make plans.”

“Special?” Gildor asked, missing Erestor’s warning glare.

“Yes,” he said cheerfully. “The three of us, you, me, Erestor, are going to take Celegorm fishing. Gentle fishing,” he added hastily before anyone could get a word in. “Catch them, release them back into the stream. Nice and relaxing.”

Erestor, who hated fishing, looked at him. Glorfindel stared back a warning that managed to imply without words that fishing would be distracting for Celegorm, keep his mind off the dog. They had been together for a long time, sometimes Erestor knew when to back off. “Perfect,” he said with a court smile. “Just what I need to fill out my picture of island life. Fishing. Gildor can even put together a picnic.”

Gildor could also be relied on to bring a decent supply of vodka to toast the passing of the dog days. Given enough vodka, even catching fish could be endured.

**Author's Note:**

> ** Artist**: the incomparable Zhie.  
**Beta and general sanity**: Red Lasbelin who is both fast and accurate: all the typos happened after she sent it back.  
** Banner assistance**: Red.  
**A note on names**: Fin and Mae speak Quenya. Glorfindel is bilingual. Gildor can swear in at least 26 languages. Erestor speaks Sindarin. The dog speaks a few words in Westron, the rest is early 20th century English. I played around with this for a bit but it stopped being funny so I opted for all names in Sindarin.


End file.
